


Footloose!

by TennantsLittleKitten



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Footloose - Freeform, Kenny Loggins, Pouty Sherlock, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TennantsLittleKitten/pseuds/TennantsLittleKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A song-ish fic featuring un-established Sherlolly.<br/>Lots of friendship feels I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footloose!

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock or Kenny Loggin’s song.

Molly knocked lightly before poking her head into Sherlock’s flat.   
“Hello!” she said warmly.

Sherlock sat with arms crossed, a heavy frown weighing down on his face.

“A little bird told me that you haven’t had a case for over a week now, so I brought you some spare fingers!!” she smiled, trying to liven the detective’s spirits.

He simply grunted in her direction and continued to sulk.

Molly moved to place the bag in the freezer- evidently beside the “toes” and “strawberry ice-cream”.  
“The little bird also says that he’s worried you’ll start shooting up Mrs. Hudson’s walls again.” She placed the other bag she carried on the coffee table. Turning her back to Sherlock (who was in his leather chair), she unpacked its contents. “So, I decided to come here and cheer you up!” She took out a small stereo and docked her i-pod to it.

Sherlock’s eyes followed her sceptically.

There was a  _click_  and a beat began to play. Molly’s foot started to pivot on her toe in time to it. The 80’s guitar soon joined in and Molly spun around to face the consulting detective. She began to twist her shoulders, a joyous grin on her face. Her hips worked into a swivel.

_Been working so hard.  
I’m punching my card._

Molly mouthed the words to him. __  
  
Eight hours for what?  
Oh, tell me what I got.

She shrugged at him with the beat, continuing to lip-sync the lyrics.

_I’ve got this feeling  
That time’s just holding me down._

She twisted towards the floor. She came back up bopping and dipping her shoulders back and forth until the chorus sounded.

_Footloose, kick off the Sunday shoes._

She wobbled her legs in and out, twisting at her feet. She motioned for him to join her.

Sherlock sat there motionless and slouching like he, himself, had outlawed dancing.  
Molly continued on without him.

 _You’re playing so cool._  
Obeying every rule.  
Deep way down in your heart,  
You’re burning yearning for some  
Somebody to tell you  
That life ain’t passing you by.

Molly turned to face him again, never missing a step, and giving Sherlock a mockingly grumpy face.

_I’m trying to tell you  
It will if you don’t even try!_

She pointed at him while grooving.

The chorus began again and finally he spoke: “You, Ms. Hooper, know nothing of dancing.”

“That’s the thing Sherlock,” she closed her eyes and threw her head back in the air. “there are no rules!”

_Oo-wee Marie, shake it, shake it for me!_

Molly continued to dance. Maybe she wasn’t elegant on her feet, but at least she knew how to have some fun!

_You got to turn me around,  
And put your feet on the ground._

Suddenly Molly was being twirled towards a strong figure and dipped just before she crashed into his chest.

_Now take a hold of all.  
Ah-ah-ahhhhhhhh…._

She stared up at him, mouth agape and breathing heavily. He concentrated down on her in his arms. His crystal blue orbs were focused and determined.

_AHHHHHHHHH!!_

He smirked.

_I’m turning you loose!_

And the next thing Molly knew, she was being twirled once more, stopped only by the lengths of their outstretched arms.

_Footloose!_

Sherlock began to dance then, with skill and ease.

_Kick off the Sunday shoes._

Pleased, she smiled and joined him.

Molly’s skirt flowed, her jumper twisting and turning. Her sock feet creating circles in the carpeted floor.

_Everybody cut, everybody cut,_

Sherlock’s black suit pants and white dress shirt conformed to his every move. His bare feet dug into the rug.

_Everybody cut footloose!_

And the pair danced carelessly, lighting up 221B for a good hour or more; Sherlock’s boredom fading with each passing song.


End file.
